


The Shark

by Kifujin Kitade (KifujinKitade)



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-15 00:44:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1284886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KifujinKitade/pseuds/Kifujin%20Kitade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm sorry I hadn't read the manga yet when I wrote this fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Shark

The shark

We failed. Beaten by a bunch of fucking brats. I, Xanxus, beaten by a fucking bunch of fucking brats. It makes me laugh bitterly. All of those scums, the all mighty Varia, they were all useless. That fag scum, that pierce scum, that robot scum, that fake prince scum, that baby scum, and the shark trash…

Yeah, the shark trash. The one who pretended to follow me to the very bottom of hell and then go back to my side, con non una lagnanza, non uno compianto. Though he had always been like that, always been so single-minded and stubborn, enough to get eaten by a real shark hundred times his weight. And what had been my reaction when I saw my most loyal man, the only one I could have called a friend disappear between rows of gigantic sharp teeth; when I believed that would be the very last time I'd hear his cutting voice tearing my ears, the very last time I'd see silver hair, bright enough to seem white, obstructing my sight? What did you imagine I would do? I laughed! I laughed my ass down and cursed at the hopeless silverette. It was the scum fault he got eaten so stupidly by a giant fish, not mine, nor my ambitions'. Ti sta bene. Get out from that shitty beast's belly or die. So I thought.

And he survived, thanks to the Bronco he survived, barely. The first time I saw him after the ring battle, it frustrated me: the sight of his whole body wrapped by meters and meters of bandages with his face almost hidden behind them, sitting like a paralytic in a wheelchair, and said Bronco standing behind him as if he was his fucking Prince Charming.

Humph. Should I care? The trash can play with anyone he wants; he can get killed by anyone; can fuck with anyone he wants…

Fuck this. This shit has nothing to do with the present story.

We were back in Sicilia after that second-rate battle (Varia quality my ass). 4 in the morning thanks to our delayed jet. The assassins squad's manor house was as gloomy as ever.

We were traversing the cold vestibule, everyone silenced like dead – which was something quite unusual from those psychopathic assassins. And particularly one: Squalo was bringing up the rear, just behind the crippled fake prince and the fag. All the Varia knew very well to avoid any talking and to stay far from me when I was in a bad mood, even more when I was that pissed off. Everyone in the Varia knew that, everyone but Squalo. The stupid shark never took consideration of the situation – read how angry I was – whatever it could be, when he burst into my office and yelled his 'Voi' in my ears. It was always ending with an unidentified projectile crushed into the trash's head, followed by more shouting and cursing. Quotidiano, la stessa canzone. And that fact confirmed, nobody knows why the idiot kept on doing that – or maybe he just was some kind of masochist.

Nevertheless he kept on going back to me, how fuming, rude and hurtful I could be toward him he always kept coming back.

But that time was different.

The shark's eyes had somehow lost their arrogant sparkling; they were dry and glued to the ground, come morto. They had been like that since we left Giappone so I didn't have to look back to guess how it was. That was something I've never seen from the silver haired trash: a pitiful, ashamed face. The only one I ever knew was noisy and overconfident, teeth gritting against each other into a feral smile, always the first one shouting at his opponent, loud enough to burst anybody's eardrums miles away, silver hair shining proudly under the sun… not one like a fucking drenched puppy. The fuck. Wasn't I the one supposed to be so damn depressed? I had been rejected by the ring, fuck it, not the trash! And shit. Recalling about that shit truly winds me up, I pass that part.

The ring fucking rejected me, right in front of him. For the second time we had to go through an utter defeat, for the second time he had to watch me fail at the very end of our scheme. God must really hate the shit of me. As for the shark…

Fuck.

At the very start that was something I didn't want to deal with. Back then he, like any other scum, was nothing to me. He was merely a shitty noisy brat hanging with me because I allowed him to. A nothing which had been presumptuous enough to think I would ever be grateful of him becoming my ally. Hell he even had cut his hand and grown his hair that long to show his goddamn loyalty. I remember how stupid I thought that kind of promise was. I still do.

Yet something was wrong. I fucking never have regrets, regrets are for losers only; I never feel guilt from my passed actions, nor repentance, nor shame. The only feeling remaining has always been wrath: wrath toward my father, wrath toward those dim-witted brats, wrath toward worthless subordinates and scum-like world… That's the only thing remaining … Or at least it should be…

'He understands, he said…He always knew…' About my origins and my impure blood. However he chose to stay by my side, he continued to fight for me though there had been no chance of success right from the start…

He waited for me.

My mind was filled up with some kind of realization I fucking didn't want to have. What the heck was that? Only thinking about the silver haired trash was bringing up discomfort in me, like I should apologize (humph! Like hell I would) or shit like that.

And that's all the shark's fault. That was all that shithead's fault to make me feel that way, I was ruminating. The only thought of Squalo being able to hinder me with that kind of uncertainty, to make me hesitate on the path I was following, made me angrier than I was already, until:

'Xanxus!' A familiar voice woke me up from my brooding. I was about to come into my office, all of the Varia members back to their rooms, when the silver haired man hailed me. That was the first time since hours Squalo's voice was heard; and it seemed pitiable, a bit shaking and fucking soft – I mean softer than usual (you really can't expect Superbi Squalo to talk softly to you). But nothing to do with my shark.

'I have to talk to you about…'

'Che? Il sbaraglio?' Squalo bit his lower lip and let down a beaten glance – how atypical from him.

There was no one but both of us in the wide corridor. The tension was almost palpable as I glared threateningly at my right-hand man. What did he expect from me?

After some time, eyes still fastened to the red carpet, he finally opened his mouth and whispered something I had never thought I would hear from the proud man.

'Ha? Come?'

'I say I'm sorry. About everything... In Giappone… and back then too, eight years earlier… I'm sorry. For all. That was because I wasn't strong enough… It shouldn't have ended like that…' Squalo's voice was barely louder than a mutter. His shilly-shallying was irritating me to no hell.

'What's that? The fuck are you blabbering about?' I said, deadpanned. Shouldn't I be the one saying that?

'That's just…!' The shark said louder, eyes finally meeting mine, yet still unsure. 'I promised you I would make you the Vongola decimo! I swore it on my pride! All these years I've shared this dream with you, and now look at our state…'

Without the shark knowing I swiftly crossed the few meters separating us and then stood right in front of the man, forcing him to back two steps behind until his back bumped into the wall. One arm trapped the smaller body beneath me while one hand was fastening his chin so that I could face the shark plainly. Burning ruby eyes met cold silvery ones. I smirked at what I saw: contrary to what I thought, the shark's eyes were shining with some sort of self-control and composure I knew he always had on the battlefield, which only meant he was ready for the worst at that moment. Seen that close and in that weak condition, he actually looked drained and vulnerable (not the honeyed and annoying kind of vulnerability, like the Sawada brat). Bandages were still brimming over his shirt; scars, though rare and almost unseen, were marring a thin, pinkish neck up to the bottom of the cheeks; his eyelids were bluish and heavy – I assumed it was because of all the medicines the hospital drugged him with – and half hiding cat-like orbs.

E capelli. Hair fucking overflowing everywhere, on his shoulders, his arms, completely veiling his face at the smaller blow of wind rushing into it.

And it was mine.

First time I saw the white curtain flowing from the shark's head, I thought it was a stupid joke the trash was playing to me. Little by little, consciousness ran to my brain, so was my anger when I understood I let all those years went by without being able to do anything to change it. And the man I was facing, the same man I met years earlier with his hair still spiky and a temper much less collected, my right-hand man was standing there, waiting for me to tell him what I was up to do about him…

'I'll never inherit the Vongola famiglia. They will never let a bastard like me lead them. You know that already.' Not one second the shark did lose countenance. He didn't regain on strength nor fierce, he just stood there, unmoving and as pale as a ghost. Only white knuckles could be seen shaking a little, his fingernails digging deeply into his palm in an attempt of keeping his composure. His eyebrows furrowed a deeper. 'I'm right, no? So what are you still doing here?'

'Aah?' He sent me a questioning peek, as if he didn't understand what I was implying.

'Your shitty promise, scum. Your promise or your pledge, I don't give a flying fuck what it is. Use your brain one minute to understand it has no sense anymore. Why would you continue following a man that will never on Holy world become your capo? Just get away before I fucking decide on burning your stupid face.'

It sure did break something in the shark. To stress on my words my hands began emitting a reddish heat, but though it wasn't hot enough to burn skin actually, it wouldn't take long to. Squalo was looking at me with a mix of hurt, dread and dismay; he looked like he was holding back a cry. I didn't know why but back then that kind of expression was in some way both pathetic and endearing. And disgusting. I hated the shark inspiring me those feelings, and I hated myself having them.

'Let me explain it so that your weak brain can get it clearly. You useless trash that didn't even get his ass to beat a brat and go back with just a fucking ring, I don't need you anymore – I never did. Whether you defeat any scum you see, whether you die trying, whether you lose all of your limbs for God knows what reason, it doesn't concern me. "I'll make you the next tenth", "The proof of my resolution to go along with you"… humph! Only a load of crap and gibberish. I know now your pride is just a drivel issue. Just disappear from my sight. Ora.'

I turned back and was about to leave a stiffen shark behind when suddenly a 'Wait' raised from a very low voice. I didn't stop. That discussion was more and more getting on my nerves.

'Wait, I said, Xanxus, dammit!' The voice finally shouted and a mechanic hand gripped tightly at my arm, forcing me to go backward. That had been the last straw; my anger only wanted it to explode plainly at the man.

In the blink of an eye my hand found its way to the shark's neck and then firmly strangled him until he wasn't able to breathe normally. My entire body's weight was crushing the bandaged man on the wall. He was trying to struggle and remove my hand from him, only succeeding in weakening his injured body ever more. The more he was fighting back the more his breaths went short and toilsome, his face sweating and flushing from the lack of air.

'Fucking trash…'

'You scum, you misunderstood me!... Gah!' The silver haired said painfully between two gasps, hesitation and fear both gone. 'Everything, all that shit of a ring battle, that had been a failure … It had been Varia's defeat … No, it was mine… My fault…Once more I couldn't do anything… As the Varia commander and your right-hand man I assume the entire responsibility of it…' Gasps. 'You can blame it on me… You can blame everything on me if you wish. I told you… Agh! I vowed my sword, my body and my life to you. They're yours, they'll always be.' He smirked. Cracked shark. 'Even fucking dying here by your hands would be the greatest ending for me…I'll accept it with pleasure…' Grayish eyes were going dull. 'But…Xanxus… Never misunderstand me on this part: I'm not a fucking buttlicker of yours, one who would have followed your ass just because you were promised to become the next Vongola's Boss. Fuck it I don't work like that...'

I released my grip when the swordsman seemed close of passing out. Instead a grabbed a full hand of hair and yanked it up.

'What the fuck's that?' I demanded.

The second he felt the vice leaving his throat the silver haired man took big gulps of air, filling his lungs to the maximum, shaking legs more or less sustaining himself up while choking like a phthisical person. Come cadente. Watching the shark's thin members draped by both black leather and white bands, skinny enough to break at the smallest shock, shaking like hell, long hair tossing at every choke, his red girlish face contorting in pain – teary eyes looking down, wet lips shining in the dark –, I wondered how that man got to survive in each battle he went through.

'That's… Your wrath… Nothing more, nothing less…' He looked at me with ardor, a gloved hand on mine. 'The fury that irradiates the battlefield and consumes all frailty in its way. Since the first time I met you until today your wrath is what makes me fight for you… Vongola or Varia… This has nothing to do with my devotion. So don't misjudge me… Now if you tell me to leave, if you tell me to disappear… I'll do it…'

I stared incredulously at him. Or rather no. I did know the silver haired swordsman, and I knew he was the kind of man who would actually have gone that far on that basis only. That's why I say Squalo is a stubborn, morally upright, cracked shark.

Yeah. My cracked shark.

A stupid brat who used to tag along with me wherever I was going, whatever I was doing; a stupid man who let his grow long enough for people to mistake him for a woman; a stupid man putting his life in danger for the sake of someone he knew was a vain cause; a stupid man who had enough guts to stand in front of the said man, happily waiting for death.

'Stop this. We're getting nowhere. Right now all I'm hearing is a kind of fucking love confession.' I pointed.

'Che, asshole.' The silverette stated furiously. 'You can take what I said as you like so long as you don't misunderstand my motive.'

Stupid shark. His stupidity is something that will never change with him, no matter how many time would pass.

'So I can take it as I want.' My grip softened on the silver mane to stroke at it gently. He stared at me, dumbfounded, the same way as I'd done something excessively alien. 'You'd better not forget what you've just said.' I whispered into a reddish ear.

'Damn shark.' I swore at the burning heat trapping my shaft, obliging me to move faster, deeper into the wetness of Squalo's body.

'Ngh… Voi…' were filling the stillness of shark's room.

On the bed under me the silver haired man was naked and writhing at each one of my poundings, moaning and calling my name out like a bitch in heat. Shit. Some time before the trash was on the point of shedding tears from the pain of being penetrated for the first time – yet the previous day I would never have thought about fucking my right-hand man senseless.

Red hickeys were already blossoming on his neck. Beads of sweat were forming on his entire body, begging to be swept. So I did. My tongue went licking on the shark's shoulder, appreciating the salty taste, before moving down to lap at an erected nipple.

'Aan… Yaa…' He whimpered. Che donnaccia.

My thrusts got deeper and so I was wholly buried into the swordsman, probing eagerly his inside, stretching the tiny ring of muscles. The thought of the shark barely recovered from his near death experience didn't slow me down. Also I knew I was brushing against an erogenous spot, so I kept with the position. My efforts were rewarded by more lewd groans from the shark's mouth, mixing with the wet sound of my shoving and both skin slapping against each other.

At that time I didn't want to think about anything anymore, nor the ol'man, nor the ring, nor the shitty brat… Nothing else but the waist waving sinfully at the contact of my hips, legs wide opened right before me, and a high pitched voice begging for me, pleading for more… Rests were all shapeless ghosts slowly but surely falling into oblivion. Maybe that was some kind of rain attribute, I presumed. Not like I really cared, all my attention turned to the silver beauty.

E tu c'inviti a danza! A sensual, attractive and inviting shark. That was a side of him I would've liked to know much earlier, so I thought when I took a full glimpse at the lean body beneath; the flushed pinkish skin; alluring ferric eyes watching at nothing but me; silken hair cascading on ivory sheets only mine to caress; moistened flesh, tight and hot, given to me only.

'Xanxus… It's… Aah!'

He was gripping tightly at the giant pillow behind him by one hand, while the gloved one was clenching at my arm, my other one hooking at a firm thigh, avoiding the silverette to move backward.

And it felt fucking great. Just why the fuck had I lost all those years doing anything but that to the shark? And why the fuck was the man so damn good at sex although I was pretty sure it was his first time doing that with a man? Then I remembered the Bronco's shitty face and his fucking habit to clumsily hang at my shark.

And it got me angry.

Fuck it I got fucking mad at that moment. I stopped my ministrations, keeping my member sheathed in. Squalo sent me an inquiring look – he was obviously close, his hard appendage leaking beads of pre-cum all over his stomach and inner thighs (I easily got accustomed seeing it, too. And curiously it didn't repulse me – I mean if it had been another man it would have disgusted me to no hell – still the thought of me being be able to get the shark hard that easily only turned me on more). A delectable sight to look at.

'Xanxus… What the heck are you…?'

'What have you done with the Cavallone looser?' I demanded.

The shark furrowed deeply, glaring at me as if to question about my mental sanity before retorting 'That's the only reason why you've stopped…Voi. Of course I've done nothing! Just why would I have… with an idiot like him…'

'But that idiot is constantly stuck to you like a shitty puppy. Get rid of him.'

'Voooi, bastard. You can't tell me who I'm allowed to talk or not! I'm not your fucking wife!'

Ah, that's right. That was – believe me or not – a standpoint I've never considered, the shark being mio proprietà or not. For me it was something obvious. I watched at the perplex face. That shit was getting out of my hands and I didn't like it. I grabbed mercilessly at the shark's shaft and gave it two ruthless pumps. It made the silver head arch and his muscles clench tighter at my cock.

'Ngh!... A-aa!' he yelled.

'What? Such a vulgar body. Wanna come that bad?' I grasped violently at the base. 'Like hell, you piece of trash.'

'Hurts!... Xan-Xanxus… Bastard… I've to…Mm'

Hungry lips crushed on the shark's mouth, muting him and initiating a savage kiss. I love how the silverette is kissing: unlike to women it's aggressive, vicious and nasty. The very issue is quale sarebbe quello mangiato, e quale sarebbe quella di mangiare. At last perhaps it was that part of his personality which lured me to him first place. Matching personalities. Or shit like that.

The kiss left the swordsman panting and with a trail of saliva dripping out from his lips. I unknowingly began on thrusting again, harder, that time with the shark's arms circling my back, his fingernails digging in agonizingly, and legs locking around my waist, pushing my toward him. His face was one of a lustful…

Our bodies were moving in unison; both insatiable and voracious, erratically building up their pace to climax. Squalo's bed was creaking; squishing noises could be heard altogether with Squalo's overly loud whining. The situation was getting the best of me.

'Feccia.' I whispered, nibbling at the shark's lobe. He shivered. The silver mane smelled of a pine forest after a late winter rain.

'Ha… Mm… Ah-What?' He panted briefly.

'You're mine.' Just stay by my side. 'Don't ever think of betraying me.' As long as you're here, that's all I need.

And as the silverette said years earlier, not once I've ever regretted having him with me.


End file.
